Chicken Soup
by KatNikki
Summary: Things are heating up in Reiner, Annie, and Bertholdt's apartment - literally. The air conditioning has gone out in their building during one of the biggest heat waves of the year. On top of that, Bertholdt somehow manages to come down with the flu! Rated T for language. Reviews appreciated! My first BeruAni fic.


"Reiner, would you get the hell over here?"

Annie's words are harsher than she expects them to be as they roll off her tongue, but a part of her doesn't care; her hair is straw on her sun burnt cheeks, making her eyes twitch as heat radiates off her body. Of course, as their luck would have it, the air conditioning unit in their apartment building breaks down just as a heat wave from the south has the city on a heat advisory. Although their windows were open, breezes were few and far between. Even in her tank top and shorts, Annie could feel the sweat beads forming on her forehead over and over, no matter how many times she swiped them away. Now she can't reach this damn can, and Reiner, someone who's actually tall, won't listen. To make matters worse…

"Here, Annie –" A violent cough reverberated throughout the kitchen as hot breath hovered behind her, a column of sweat-drenched clothes using the counter as support. "I c-can get it for you."

Bertholdt was sick.

Only Bertholdt could get the flu in _fucking summer_. The whole rest of the year, he's fine. Even last winter, when Reiner and Annie were lying in bed as sick as dogs, Bertholdt's immune system held out. He got close to them, fed them soup, and changed the blankets; he did everything without even contracting a slight cold. Of course, the minute the cooling goes down and the air is so hot and sticky from the humidity outside, Bertholdt's colossal immune system falls victim to a nasty flu. _It's always go big or go home with you, Bert. _Reiner had said after a late night medicine run the day before. At first, Annie hadn't thought much of it. Now as she's looking at Bertholdt's fingers shake as he tries to reach for the can of soup on the top shelf for her, she realizes that's the understatement of the year.

Annie's eye twitches in annoyance, and she grabs Bertholdt's hand in mid-air, perhaps a bit harder than she'd intended. He jumps a little, his eyes darting to meet hers. "Bertholdt, for the last time, will you go _lie down_?" She asks, although it comes out as more of a command than it does a question. He shifts awkward, his lumbering form reverting into itself in that self-conscious way it always does. A part of her wonders if, perhaps, it would behoove her to be just a little less snappy with him. He's sick after all. Shouldn't she be treating him delicately? Or at least a little more gently?

_Well. _She replies to herself, the intensity in her form never wavering. _If he'd stop being so god damn frustrating, then maybe I wouldn't _have _to be so rough. _

Bertholdt has always been a well meaning man; it's not like he _tried _to be difficult. But damn, could he be _fucking difficult_. Despite that Annie had told him this morning – rather nicely in fact – that she'd called his work to inform them of his illness, Bertholdt _still _wanted to go to the office. _They said it was fine. _She had said. _They said you should stay home and get better. _She had said. But _no_, Bertholdt still wanted to get up and try to work anyways, even though the man could barely walk in a straight line without assistance. Annie has never been the type to try and control anyone, but couldn't Bertholdt see that he's not in any condition to be walking the overheated city streets? It's a hundred and two degrees outside and his fever is _hotter _than that. Why can't he just sit still?

Bertholdt opens his mouth to make a weak-willed protest, but he's cut off by a sneeze. Annie can feel her eye twitching again, handing him a paper towel to blow his nose. "Go lie down. And don't get up again unless you're going to the bathroom." She commands.

"Y-yes, Annie." Bertholdt replies quietly, his soft green eyes cast down to the floor. He turns, his large, brown hand moving away from Annie's tiny red one as he straightens up. As he ducks to go out the door, Annie can see a tuft of short, tousled blonde hair over Bertholdt's shoulder, a booming laugh coming from the source. As Annie turns and looks out the window, she can see a muscular arm pull around Bertholdt's middle and steady him as he disappears, presumably to their bedroom. Annie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and looking up at that damned soup can too high above her head to reach.

"Y'know, could it kill ya to be a little bit nicer to 'im?"

Annie's eyes narrow as another tall man walks up behind her, soup can in hand. "If he wasn't so damn difficult about staying in bed," she starts, "then maybe I would be." She snatches the can from Reiner's hands, bending over to pull out their small pot from beneath the counter.

She may not be looking, but she can imagine Reiner's position: body leaned against a dining table chair, his head shaking in that knowing manner of his. "He's just lonely in there, that's all. Even if he's sick, he wants someone to spend time with him. You know how cuddly he is."

"Then why don't you go back in there?" Annie asks as she turns the can opener, the aroma of chicken noodle soup enveloping the stick air around them. "Turn on some romantic comedy. He likes those, right?"

Reiner chuckles. "He wants to spend time with _you_, Annie." He says, mirth rolling off of him. "He's spent the morning watching movies with me; now it's your turn."

Annie's eyes narrow again as she starts to stir the soup in the pot. "He's pathetic." Annie's words are harsher than she expects as they roll off her tongue, just like before, only this time a part of her wishes she hadn't said them at all. She breathes deep, letting the silence fill the room as Reiner contemplates her from behind.

Suddenly, he laughs, and she turns to look at him, curiosity in her eyes. "You sure are cold." He says, not a hint of bitterness in his eyes. "Still, you must be at least a little worried about him."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" She asks, meeting his gaze.

"You're making him lunch."

Annie freezes then, her spoon stopping mid-stir as chicken noodle wafts around the apartment. She can see the steam rising from the pot, the bubbles forming beneath the surface of the brown broth, and she feels her eyes darting back and forth. "How do you know I'm not making it for myself?" She says unfazed. She can her him laugh again, a chuckle filled with mirth.

"Don't try to play me, Annie. I know you hate chicken noodle."

Reiner walks behind her then, watching as she carefully takes the pot off the heat and grabs a bowl. He has that stupid grin on his face – the one he always has when he knows he's right about something – and she feels the urge to punch him square in the jaw. Instead, she simply pushes him out of the way of the silverware drawer. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him cross his sun-kissed arms, feels his cocky eyes boring into her from the sides as she carefully spoons the soup into the bowl. Cracking her knuckles, she picks up the bowl with a hot pad and turns to him. "Here." She says, attempting to thrust the bowl into his hands. "You take it to him."

"Mmmm… No." Reiner says, that stupid grin permanently etched into his features.

"Why not?" She asks, her teeth gritted.

"Oh, what's this?" Reiner puts the back of his hand to his forehead, eyes upturned. "I suddenly don't feel so hot, Annie! I better lie down; after all, that's what you told Bertl, right?" Annie clenches her free hand into a fist, her nails digging into her palms. Reiner only stares back at her with that look that pisses her off to no end. _You little shit. _She thinks. The quiet that follows rivals the one from before, except this time, Annie is the one to break it. She pulls the soup in close to her chest and glares back at him as she speaks.

"…I fucking hate you, Reiner."

"Love you, too, Annie." Reiner says as she walks towards Bertholdt and Reiner's room, not bothering to knock as she walks in.

The minute she walks in, Bertholdt sits up in his bed, his feet hanging off the edge even then. His face is flushed red, the ice pack having fallen from his head as he sat up. His eyes light up like a Christmas tree when they met hers. "H-hi Annie," He says cheerfully. Well, as cheerfully as he can; his voice is thick with mucus, yet not a hint of misery rolls off of him.

"Hey." Annie says, putting the bowl down on the bedside table. She picks up a towel beside Bertholdt and dabs her forehead of the sweat that has formed, only to look up and find that he's practically swimming in it. She snorts a little as he looks at her with those eyes of his, the blush flaring up on his cheeks. "You never stop sweating, do you?" She asks quietly, moving to dab some of the sweat off of his face instead.

He laughs nervously, casting his eyes down. "S-sorry…"

She ignores him and turns to the television, pulling out the remote. "Any Netflix preference? I'm not like Reiner; I don't do rom-coms usually, but I'll watch one with you."

Annie's words are much softer than she thought they'd be as they roll off her tongue, and she doesn't have to look to know his eyes are widening. "Y-you're gonna stay?" He's incredulous. She only shrugs in response.

"Guess I might be a little worried about you." She says quietly as she scrolls through the titles before handing the remote to Bertholdt and turning to the bowl of soup. She takes out a spoonful and puts her hand underneath, leading it to his mouth. "Besides, I don't hate you like I used to."

Bertholdt looks at her stupidly, since his eyes are wide like saucers and his teeth are clamped around the spoon. But as she takes the spoon out, he relaxes and a natural smile – a real one – illuminates his dark features. He takes the remote, and he starts to search through all the titles, a goofy grin on his face. When he picks one, and after Annie gives him the bowl to eat on his own, she sits next to him on the bed, their pinkies intertwined. Every once and a while, she looks up at him – usually after he has a coughing or sneezing fit and they have to pause the movie – and she realizes that even though he should be miserable, he's genuinely happy. A smile plays at her chapped lips as she watches him snore, his head resting in her lap. Although it's hot and his body temperature only furthers the humid discomfort of the summer, Annie can't bring herself to move. Instead, she thinks, watching the next Nicholas Spark's movie come on in the playlist:

_Maybe taking care of this big oaf isn't so bad after all._


End file.
